


to love none better than you

by erlkoenig



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: In this moment they were simply two people, caught in this interstice of time. A perfect alignment, the quiet of the library, the sound of the rain outside, the last of the dying storm. Just the two of them, here, now, and it took his breath away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aglarien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/gifts).



> For Aglarien, who asked for a love story.

The rain had been coming steadily for days now, winding through the valley as though it could create another river all its own. It had started as a simple thing, a late summer shower that had stretched on too long, and by the third day the winds had picked up, the pine branches at their mercy. 

Tonight the storm was truly upon them, the low rumble of thunder in the distance the only warning that the rains would worsen, and then the howling of winds had come like some mad beast. The trees swayed, bent, the creaking and moaning swallow by the downpour. Thunder crashed, echoing even in the safety of Imladris’ halls. It covered his footsteps, the turn of the door handle -- Erestor was surprised, in a way, to find it unlocked -- and he thought to make some soft noise to alert the other that he was there. 

“My lord,” He began, as a great flash of lightning lit up the sky like a bruise, “Is it safe to be out here in this?” The spray of the rain reached him even there just past the door, and Elrond was half-soaked with it. “Perhaps you should come in?”

_ Get inside or so help me I will drag you back in myself.  _ He held onto the threat for now, turning it over in his mouth with the quirk of a smile. 

Elrond seemed to not hear him, though the tell-tale twitch of his ears betrayed him. He stood at a railing, looking out into the open air of the observatory.  _ At least he is not on the walkway, yet.  _ And Erestor consoled himself with that much, though this was only passably safer. 

“My lord?” 

“Is it not beautiful?” There was something akin to wonder in his voice, like a small child seeing nature’s magnificence for the first time. “Look, just so.” He pointed, and Erestor took a step closer, squinting to see. The sky was black, and all he could see for it was the heavy rain falling. Another flash, another half-second of bright blue and deep purple -- but,  _ oh, _ and there it was. Just behind the clouds he could see the stars there, shining like pale gems in the sky and for a moment he could see what kept Elrond here, fixed to the railing and staring. It was lovely, but it was also dangerous. The lightning was closer now, the thunder almost moments behind the flash. 

“It is,” he was pulled from his own reverie, and when did he move so close to the other? He could reach out and touch him, and so he did, a gentle hand on his shoulder, not pulling, not yet. “But you are soaked to the bone and the storm is only getting worse.”

“You are right,” and for all his title of his lord’s advisor he could have marked this day down in a journal, so easily conceded. “There is just something about storms like this, the beauty in all the destruction and the promise of peace after that calls to me.”

Erestor nodded, though he did not know if Elrond could see. “Do you think, then, that this is the worst of it?”

Elrond turned to him then, something immeasurable in those dark eyes now upon him and yet it was more breathtaking than the sight of the stars behind the stormclouds. “No, I think it is only getting started. But come, I would not have you drenched on my behalf, and the storm above is getting closer, as you say.”

He nodded again, unable to do much else, and though he had come to fetch his lord he found himself now the one led gently into the hall, the quiet  _ snick _ of the door closing behind them and Elrond’s hand was still upon his elbow, leading him on even now. They passed the time in silence, with only the music of the storm to accompany them, a whisper of rain and the rumbling beat of thunder above. At last they reached Elrond’s chambers, and here they must part, but he felt -- and not for the first time -- a sort of loss, a near frantic need to continue, to stay. Perhaps he could invent some reason to stay, to linger just outside a little longer. Something he could bring to his lord’s attention, something to make idle chatter about if only for another few minutes. 

There was always tomorrow, but there was something electric in the air tonight, something like a brush of magic over the skin, soft like fingertips and yet there all the same. He opened his mouth, trying to think of anything, anything at all and yet no words came. He would bid Elrond goodnight, return to his chambers, spend another night throwing himself into some book or other until the sun rose behind the clouds and he had to try and make himself presentable again. 

“The hour is late and we are both damp, but I find myself in want of company.” Erestor looked up, unaware that his gaze had fallen to the stone floor. “There is a fire within and I would share a glass of wine or two with a friend tonight, if you are willing.”

“I--” And he  _ was, _ but of course decorum reared its head and he considered for a moment the very  _ appropriateness  _  of it, considered his own motivations, cajoled them with  _ duty _ . “Yes, that would be lovely.”

There was a flicker of something upon Elrond’s face that lit it up, for a moment, brighter than the lightning before. “I was hoping you would agree.” 

The room was warm indeed, the fire crackling in the hearth and bathing the room in a comforting, flickering glow. He stepped in with a sort of reverence, as if he had not been within a hundred times or more, and yet there was something -- and,  _ ah,  _ that  _ something _ again -- different about this night. They were sharing a moment, one that Erestor knew he would not soon forget, if ever. 

“A moment,” and Erestor nodded yet again, finding himself at a loss for words, an unusual thing for himself, as he stood within the room, his hands folded behind his back. 

He heard the rustling of fabric, turned his head and Elrond had stepped behind a screen to change, and wasn’t  _ that _ something. He ducked his head, feeling heat rise to his face, and cleared his throat. Elrond emerged a moment later, in a heavy dressing gown, his damp hair unbound and over his shoulders. He could not help but to stare, his feet moving him when his heart and mind refused, carried him over to the little table, the two chairs set there as if just for them. A decanter of wine, two glasses, and he should be the one pouring but Elrond was never one to let another wait upon him, and so set the full glasses before them before taking his seat. 

That silence fell between them, each considering the dark depths of their wine, and at last Erestor was the one to take a drink to calm his nerves. How many conversations had he in confidence like this with his lord, and why was tonight any different? He knew, oh but did he know, and there was an element of danger in it. 

It was though they had never left the railing, had never stepped out of the storm. 

“I find myself ill at ease of late.” Elrond began, shattering the quiet oh-so-softly that Erestor’s ears twitched to catch the sound. “I do not know what has come over me. It is not a longing for the sea, of this I am sure. And yet I find myself wandering within my own home, as if lost. I have no need for a journey, nor do I want to, and yet there is this restlessness that follows on the heels of an equally unsettling listlessness that has settled so deep within me I can feel it in my bones.”

“Is it the storm, my lord?”

“No, it is has long been troubling me.” 

He waited for Elrond to continue, watching as the other held the glass within his hands as if he were afraid it might shatter. He wanted to reach across, to gently take the glass from him and hold his hands, find some words to ease his lord’s mind if only for a night. How had he not seen? 

He had, in a way. There had been something he could not put words to, a restlessness of his own that had led him to look more and more for the other, to notice his absences and to worry, that same sort of concern that led him to go in search of him tonight. A half-fear, one that he dared not put to words and yet it lingered in the back of his mind and on the tip of his tongue.

He feared that Elrond would wish to sail, and he would be left here, alone. 

He had no desire for the sea, and thought often that perhaps that longing would never come. That he would be here until the world passed its last age and everything faded away. It was not some love for the world, but rather a sort of apathy. The thought of seeing Elrond leave, seeing him off at the gate and knowing that he would never return, was a fear that was like ice in his veins. 

_ It is not a longing for the sea,  _ and so he comforted himself with that, at least, for now. 

“I wish I knew what to say to ease your mind, my lord.” Erestor murmured, took a drink of wine to buy himself a little more time to think, but still nothing came. Across from him, Elrond raised a dark eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his fair face.

“You? Without words? I think this might be a first.” And then he laughed, the sound a balm that eased the tension in the room. “But come, this is not a night for sad musings, let us talk of other things.”

“Shall we talk then of how you were half-drowned in the storm then?” Erestor teased, grinning, and there was that laughter again. How he loved it, longed to hear it, to be always a reason the worry fled from his lord’s face. 

“Nay, I said no sad musings. You caught me in a melancholy, though I dare say it has lifted for the while. Let us talk of other things.” Elrond drank deep from his cup, color returning to his face and Erestor had to stop himself from resting his chin in his hands to merely stare. “What of your beast?”

“My -- you mean my cat.”

“That I do.” And the wine was affecting him, some Dorwinion vintage from their Silvan kin. “I disturbed her rest recently and she was less than pleased with me. She had taken as her bed a particular tome I had meant to finish and when I tried to gently shoo her away, she admonished me.”

“Sounds right. Be thankful, at least, that she did not see fit to use her claws. She can be as a dragon about her sleep.”

“Indeed!” 

There was a warmth spreading through him, whether the wine or another influence he could not tell. There was no other sound for a while, save the crackle and pop of the logs in the fire, the storm as it lessened outside.

“The rain seems to be slowing.”

“It shall, deceptively. I have been watching the clouds approach from the east.”

“From the east?”

“Not that far east, for what little comfort that affords. But there will be a bit of peace for a while, and then the storm will return, worse than before. The clouds are a dark shadow, crawling across the horizon towards us with little sign of breaking.”

A chill went through him all the same, and he drained his glass. For all Elrond’s reassurance, his mind turned to other things, darker things he did not dare speak, for all the terrible memory they would bring. And yet he could think of nothing else to say. The moment had been there and then gone, the static in the air fading and he was aware now of the late hour, his lord’s need for rest when his mind was so troubled, his own failure to provide a lasting distraction.

“I fear I have kept you too long, my lord.” He said carefully.

There was another of those unreadable looks, some emotion he could not understand, almost as if disappointed, that passed over Elrond’s face. “Nonsense, it is I that have kept you. But we are both in need of rest this evening.” 

And then there was a warm hand over his, fingers curled against his palm, and he looked up at Elrond, startled. 

“We should do this more often, Erestor. I find myself -- it is though my thought are clearer, less troubled when you are here.”

“I am glad of it.” Erestor said, his tongue heavy and thick within his mouth. He wanted to read more into it, but he did not dare. Lord Elrond had always been easy with his words, his affections. He did not guard himself so, as Erestor or any other did. “And I agree, I much enjoyed our time together tonight. Perhaps another night, when you are not soaked through and in need of rest.”

A smile, brilliant as any star in the sky above, and Erestor felt himself melt there and then. “Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”

Elrond walked with him to the door, and there they lingered for a moment, as if both were reluctant to call an end to the evening. But that could not be, or so Erestor told himself, and so he bowed, bidding his lord a good night with a promise to see him on the morrow.

“Pleasant dreams to you, Erestor, should sleep find you tonight.” Elrond said, leaning against the door frame as Erestor turned to leave.

“And to you,” he returned, that same reluctance resettling, a wild sort of need to turn and march right back inside, to think of a thousand and one things to talk about until the morning bade them return to their duties. 

But at last he turned away and made for his rooms, not hearing the door close until he had nearly rounded a corner.


	2. Chapter 2

He had often been accused of overthinking, well,  _ everything. _

Never one to rush to a snap judgement, Erestor preferred to take his time. To consider anything from every possible angle, and several impossible angles if given enough time. 

“You are overthinking something again.” Glorfindel, amicable at most times, never failed to point out when he considered Erestor’s thinking to push into the so-called  _ absurdist territory _ . Erestor sighed, trying to ignore him, turned another page in his book before realizing he had not actually read it, turned back. “I can see it turning over and over in your mind like some geared abomination. Round and round it goes until you wear it down to dust, and then you will over examine the particles left.”

“Is there something you need?” He snapped, trying to concentrate on the words in front of him, but his eyes seemed to slide right off the page. 

Glorfindel folded his arms on the table and rest his chin upon then, grinning up at him. “What’s on your mind of late?”

“It is no concern of yours.”   
  
“Probably not, but I am asking all the same. Perhaps you could come to a decision faster if you had someone to bounce ideas off of, it has worked for us in the desperate past.”

He considered it for a moment, but what truly  _ was  _ distracting him of late? It came down to Lord Elrond of course, at it simplest and most picked-apart, but even there it splintered into a half dozen where’s and why’s. Was it that night in the observatory, and the wine shared after? Was it a longing for another such intimate moment? Was it that his lord had found himself distracted himself these last two weeks, the only words passed between them were said in passing in the halls?

He turned another unread page. Was it that night indeed, and how long Elrond had lingered in the doorway after, and how Erestor had felt his eyes on his back and the closing of the door only after he had rounded the corner, and what did it mean? Did it mean anything at all?

Was it this ache in his chest, a steady growing thing that reached out with desperate, seeking fingers whenever he was near the other elf? Some terrible bright and beautiful thing full of such longing that a smile or a gentle look could soothe it for a moment and then, in the absence of such, cause it to ache all the more. He found himself wanting more and more to see his lord smile, unburdened and unworried. To hear him laugh and tell stories from his past, to talk to him, not as a lord to an advisor but one soul to another. 

He kept a catalogue of those moments in the back of his mind, took them out and thumbed through them like they were the pages of the book he held, comforting and consoling himself with them alone at night, during his daydreams at council. Each one jealously guarded and leaving him wanting more and more. 

And in the wild moments of the early hours, he would overthink indeed, each smile, word,  _ touch _ and think that he might pluck up some courage and march to his lord’s chambers. Knock upon the door and when he appeared, would tell him everything. All about this, this ache, that he would spend the rest of his days making his lord as happy as he could be. 

The madness would pass, and he would put the memories away, lock them up and breathe deeply until he had hold of himself once again.

“You are gone somewhere far away.” Glorfindel’s voice cut through his musings and he nearly jumped, startled. He had forgotten he was there.

“I was thinking.”

Glorfindel looked him over, a keen and curious shine in his bright eyes. “You are in love.”

“Hush you,” he hissed, looking around as if afraid someone might hear. There was no one else in the library, as far as he could see or hear. His ears twitched all the same, drooped low as he realized that Glorfindel had him pinned, like an insect upon a board, something to be studied now, stared at. “It is none of your concern.”

“Who is it?”

“Away with you!” He said, exasperated, brandishing the book at Glorfindel, who merely ducked, laughing.

“Alright then, keep your secrets. But let me give you some advice. Tell them, before something should happen and you cannot. Do not allow yourself to know that regret.”

There was something that passed over Glorfindel’s face then, a shadow of a memory, some terrible sadness that seemed to steal all of the grandeur and light from him for a moment. He seemed, then, to be almost small, sad, filled with a loneliness that made Erestor’s heart ache in understanding, in sympathy.

“I will -- I will consider it.” He said, watching then as the light returned, a soft, sad smile on Glorfindel’s face as he stood at last with a nod. 

“You will feel all the better for the telling, I assure you.” He said, clapped his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. “I will leave you to your brooding then, try not to miss dinner again.”

Alone at last in the solemn quiet of the library, he found he had lost his want to read, could hardly remember why he had picked up this particular tome to begin with. Halfway through, and yet he could not recall a word of what he had read, nor could he understand what was on the page at all. His thoughts were a storm, blowing around inside his skull until he could not think. He shut his eyes, pressed his fingertips to his eyelids until they hurt, until colors burst bright in his vision and still he felt no better. 

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, warm and broad, and he felt a sigh escape him as a hiss through clenched teeth. “I thought you said you were going to leave me in peace at last.” He snapped, unmoving. 

“I believe I saw Lord Glorfindel whistling his way down the hall to the kitchens,” a voice said, “If that is who you mean.”

Erestor’s head snapped up, nearly dislodging the hand on his shoulder, his own falling stupidly to the table with a dull thump. The voice behind him chuckled, and he turned to see Elrond looking at him, humor and mirth in those dark eyes. 

“My lord,” he stood, feet clumsy and the chair scraping loudly across the marble floor. “I am sorry, I--”

Elrond merely held up his hand, that quiet laughter spilling from him again. “Do not worry. Please, sit.” He gestured, fighting back an obvious grin as he moved to the other side of the table, taking Glorfindel’s previous seat. “I had hoped to find you alone. What luck this evening that here you are, and Glorfindel now departed.”

“I feel as though there is a joke in that at my own expense,” Erestor sat up straighter, but a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips betrayed him. “What can I do for you my lord?”

Elrond held up his hand again, inclining his head. “Please, Erestor, is there need for titles between us now? Let us speak as friends.”

“As you wish, Elrond.” The name felt different in his mouth now, had a different taste bittersweet and honeyed. He found that he liked it much more, wanted to say it as often as he could. “But you say you have sought me out, there must be a reason. And so my question stands, what can I do for you?”

“I--” It was not like his lord to be without words, to fumble for them. He was ever eloquent, speaking precisely what was on his mind, whether or not the other wanted to hear it, it was always needed. To see him now, searching for the next word was almost unsettling. He wanted to prompt him, to help. He did not. “I merely wanted to speak with you. Does there need to be a reason always?”

“I suppose not.” Erestor closed his book, needing something to do with his hands. “How have you been of late? I have barely seen you.”

“And I apologize for that,” Elrond said, then cut off any sort of stuttered reassurance on Erestor’s tongue. “I have truly wished to see you, though I have been occupied. But I am not now, and I remember well what I said those long nights ago, that I wished to share time with you. Just us.”

Erestor’s mouth went dry, and he tried not to read too much into it, tried to quash down that hope fluttering in his chest like a spring bird. “Well, here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” Elrond repeated softly, his eyes meeting Erestor’s as he reached across the table and took first one of Erestor’s fidgeting hands and then the other, holding them as if they were delicate things. 

Erestor looked at him then, really  _ looked  _ at him. How Elrond’s eyes never wavered, held his with such an intensity he had only seen at council, and yet there was a softness there, as though he were unsure of himself. Elrond’s hair was unbound, as it had been that night in his room, falling over the shoulders of the simple silvery robe he wore. There was no adornment, not circlet upon his brow. 

In this moment they were simply two people, caught in this interstice of time. A perfect alignment, the quiet of the library, the sound of the rain outside, the last of the dying storm. Just the two of them, here, now, and it took his breath away.

“Elrond.” He dared, wanting to say something, anything, any of the thousands thoughts that rushed through his head and yet all he could say way, “you look lovely this evening.”

And Elrond laughed at that, and perhaps Erestor should have been embarrassed but he could not find it in himself. He loved the sound of it, loved the way the other’s face lit up with it. Loved him, a suddenly epiphany that seemed so simple and so grand at the same time. 

“Forgive me,” Elrond says at last. “It has been some time since I have done this.”

There are those racing thoughts again,  _ this? _ \-- he thinks --  _ again?  _ Where does  _ do I dare to hope _ become  _ do I dare not to _ , and what is the protocol for that. Are there rules to this? No, of course not, and yet Erestor feels as though he is sitting there, slack-jawed and waiting eternally for a sign so that when it comes he can judge it,  _ no, no that’s not right either, put it away. _

They’re both waiting for the other to say something, to do something. When they do speak, they speak at once.

“Again?”

“Would you like to dine with me, privately?”

They stop, blink, fighting back a relieved sort of laughter that spills out of them both and this is good, this  _ feels good.  _

“Dinner?”   
  
“Dinner,” Elrond says again. “Unless I have been reading this wrong, though I do not think I have.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

For a moment he almost wants to play ignorant, that flare of familiar, embarrassed panic rushing through him and he tamps it down, nods slowly. “That would be nice.”

“I think, my dear friend, it is time that you and I were gentle to ourselves. We deserve, at the very least, to see where this goes.” Elrond’s words are measured, careful, but there is such a gentle hope to his voice, to his smile. “Though I do believe we knew well where it is going.”

At this he feels his eyes widen, look away and a heat rise to his face. “My l-- Elrond.” Takes a steadying breath and --

And he is right. They do deserve this. 

“Alright.”

Elrond stands, and he is quick to follow, lets their hands fall away and already he misses the touch. 

“Tonight.”   
  
“Tonight.”

Call it courage, or stupid, or any number of things because this is so new and for all Elrond’s speech this is frightening but he moves forward, presses a kiss to the corner of Elrond’s mouth and when he pulls back there is already an apology on his lips.

“You missed.”

And this time, he does not.


End file.
